


we can brave the dark

by Snacky



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Happy Childhood, Jonsa Exchange, Pre-Series, Sibling Bonding, Starklings, wee baby starks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-10 05:57:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11685483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snacky/pseuds/Snacky
Summary: When Arya dares Sansa to spend the night in the crypts, it’s Jon who comes to her rescue.





	we can brave the dark

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dialux](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dialux/gifts).



> Written for Dialux in the [Jonsa Exchange.](https://jonsaexchange.tumblr.com/) Pre-canon, not exactly a romance, but a lot of family feels (I hope!).

Sansa Stark was eight years old, and Winterfell, the ancient castle of the Starks, was her home. Her father was the Lord, and her mother was his Lady Wife, and the castle was never scary, not even for a little girl.

Except for the crypts.

Sansa hadn’t been to the crypts since Robb and Jon scared them, she and Arya and Bran, with Robb telling scary stories to spook them and Jon jumping out from the crypts, pretending to be a ghost.

Arya had been brave and stayed put, but Sansa had run shrieking for the stairs. After, the others had come to find her, and they had laughed and laughed about how funny it was, her loud scream and the way she dashed off.

But Sansa hadn’t thought it funny, and ever since, the others had poked fun at her, teasing her about the ghost in the crypts, and how even baby Bran was braver than she.

Sansa knew it was shameful, to be a Stark and to be frightened in Winterfell. Winterfell was her home, and nothing could hurt her inside its walls. But still, the crypts haunted her dreams, her dead ancestors laughing at her, just as her brothers and sister did, for being the most timid Stark ever to live.

But she was determined to prove her bravery, so when Arya dared her to spend the night in the crypts, just to show she wasn’t really afraid, Sansa had readily taken the dare. There was nothing to fear down in the crypts, not really. Robb and Jon had tricked them after all, and nothing like _that_ would happen again.

Which was how Sansa found herself alone in the dark, in the middle of the night, in the crypts of Winterfell.

She’d done as Arya suggested — snuck out of bed after the castle was sleeping, tucking a fur cloak around her shoulders and taking a candle with her — and crept quietly through the halls of the castle and across the yards until she reached the lichyard. She didn’t encounter a soul in the silent castle, and she almost wished she would — someone to catch her and scold her for being a silly little girl, and send her back to her warm bed.

But no one spotted her, and soon enough, Sansa found herself standing in front of the doorway to the crypts. Neither she nor Arya had planned on how heavy the ironwood door would be, and Sansa almost turned back to her bed then, but after a few moments of determined tugging, it creaked open to reveal the of the spiral steps the wound all the way down into the deepest level of the crypts.

She had a moment of hesitation staring down the steps into the dark, thinking of all the ghosts who could be waiting for her, but… she was a Stark. And there wasn’t a ghost in those crypts who wasn’t her family anyway, so what was there to be scared of?

At least, that’s what she told herself as she made her way down the stairs, the flickering flame of her candle only a tiny dot of light in the seemingly endless dark.

She didn’t go all the way down to the lowest level — she’d leave that feat of bravery to her sister — but instead just to the first level, where she walked along the long path, trying hard not to look at the statues as she passed. Even though they were her family some of the old Lords of Winterfell didn’t look at all happy to see her. One had a particularly unfriendly looking direwolf at his feet, and Sansa was quite sure she heard a faint growl as she scurried by.

After what seemed like a very long walk, Sansa arrived at her destination: her aunt Lyanna’s statue, and there she settled down, carefully balancing her candle on cold stone floor. Father didn’t talk about his sister very often, but from the way his eyes shone when did, and the smile that always played on his solemn face, Sansa knew that Father loved Aunt Lyanna very much.

That made Sansa smile a bit, thinking of her own brothers, Robb and Bran, and newborn baby Rickon. There was Jon too, of course, but he was only her half-brother and a bastard, and having a different mother meant it wasn’t quite the same. Still, Sansa couldn’t imagine her family without him, even if Jon was quiet and didn’t always play with her very much, as he seemed to favor Robb and Arya’s company more than her own.

It was cold in the crypts, but Sansa pulled her cloak tight around her and tucked her feet up under the edge, and the chill didn’t seem so bad. She kept her face turned away from the empty crypts just beyond — Sansa didn’t like to think that one of those tombs was waiting for Father and another for Mother one day. And she definitely didn’t like to think of the spirits that might be waiting around, ghouls and ghosts who wouldn’t want a little girl disturbing their rest.

But with her aunt Lyanna watching out for her, and her uncle Brandon and her grandfather close by as well, it was just like being with family, Sansa told herself. She knew the story of Aunt Lyanna, of course. How Prince Rhaegar had taken her away, and how Uncle Brandon rode south to free her. And when the Mad King took Uncle Brandon captive, Grandfather had gone south as well. The Mad King had killed them both, and Aunt Lyanna died during the war as well. It was a very sad story, but still, there was romance and adventure to it, just like in her favorite songs. Sansa sat there on the chilly ground, candle flickering by her side, and told herself stories of what would have happened if Aunt Lyanna came home, if Father had rescued her and brought her back to Winterfell safely.

The right kind of stories, Sansa thought, made the crypts far less scary.

At least until her candle burned out.

And then, alone in pitch dark, Sansa realized just how scary it was. But she was a Stark of Winterfell, and she could be brave. Arya had challenged her to spend the night in the crypts, and she wouldn’t leave now. Even though she was she sure she could hear that old lord’s direwolf growling again.

She couldn’t leave even if she wanted to, she realized with a sinking heart. She’d never find her way out in the dark, and Sansa cursed herself for being so stupid and silly that she hadn’t thought to bring more than one candle, or to light at least one of the great torches that dotted the walls of the crypts.

There was no way to tell how long she sat there in the dark, shivering under her fur, and jumping each time she heard the faintest noise. There might be rats in the crypts, along with the ghosts, she realized. And how had she not noticed that howling noise before? She told herself to be sensible, that it was just the wind coming down the steps and whistling down the long pathways of the crypts.

But she was just a little girl, and even though she had Aunt Lyanna there watching out for her, Sansa was frightened. So she began to cry, as she sat alone in the dark, listening to the howling and wishing she was safe in her bed, no matter how much the others might laugh at her not being brave.

Then two things happened at once: a small pinprick of light appeared in the darkness, and it seemed to be moving closer; and Sansa heard someone call her name.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to scream and run and hide and then scream some more. But Sansa was a Stark, and Winterfell was her home. There was nothing in the crypts that should scare her. And Aunt Lyanna was there, and she would help Sansa to be brave.

So she jumped to her feet and yelled into the darkness. “Go away! I’m not scared of you!”

“Sansa?”

It didn’t sound like she thought a ghost would sound, she thought. The voice sounded familiar, and not scary at all. And no wonder, she realized as the light moved closer, and suddenly she could see more clearly.

It was Jon Snow, carrying a candle and calling her name. “Sansa! There you are!”

It didn’t matter that Jon was only her half-brother or that he was a bastard. He was here and he would save her, and Sansa scrambled to her feet, launching herself at him, wrapping her arms around him in the tightest hug.

Jon was silent and still for a moment, and maybe she was hugging him too tight? But then his arm went around her, and he pulled her close against him, and when he spoke, he sounded like Father. “It’s all right, sweetling, I’ve found you.”

“Thank you,” she murmured into his chest, afraid to let go of him, lest he prove to be a real spirit and disappear. It was nice just to stand here and hold on to him, and feel her fear slipping away.

Jon didn’t say anything, just stood with her and hugged her, and really, despite being in the crypts, it was rather nice. Sansa couldn’t remember the last time she’d hugged Jon. He was tall, like their father, and he was strong, despite still being a young boy. And when Sansa stepped out his embrace and glanced up at his face, he was smiling with her with the same fond smile Father often wore. “What are you doing down here, Sansa?”

For some reason, Jon being by her side made Sansa feel brave, as brave as having Aunt Lyanna watching over her. She drew herself up and said in a proud voice, “I’m spending the night in the crypts.”

“The entire night?!” Jon seemed surprised, but Sansa was thought maybe he was impressed too.

“Yes.” And then a thought occurred to her. “How did you know to find me here, Jon?”

“Arya came and woke me up. She was worried about you.”

Now it was Sansa’s turn to be surprised. “She was? But she dared me to spend the whole night, to prove I’m brave like the rest of you.”

Jon laughed at that, and even though his laughter was a creepy echo in the crypts, it still had a nice sound. “Brave like us? Neither Robb nor I would ever spend the night down here.” And he gave her a funny wink. “Nor would Arya. She was so scared a ghost had found you when you didn’t come right back. That’s why she sent me, to make sure you were safe.”

“Really?” Sansa couldn’t imagine Arya being that worried about her, but it gave her a warm feeling in her chest when Jon said that. “Well, you can tell her I’m fine.”

“You can tell her yourself.” Jon took her hand. “Come, let’s get back to bed.”

But Sansa stood her ground. “No. Arya dared me to spend the night here, and I will. I’m not afraid. I’m a brave Stark, even if I’m a girl.”

“Not afraid?” asked Jon in a puzzled tone. “You were crying and clinging to me just a moment ago.”

“Well, yes. But I’m not afraid now.” And she truly wasn’t. Jon being here helped her feel brave. His candle helped too. “So I’m going to stay.”

“You really _are_ brave, sister.” This time she was sure Jon was impressed - she could tell by the way he smiled at her and gave her hand a squeeze.

“You could stay with me, if you’d like!” The offer came out so fast that Sansa was almost as surprised by it as Jon looked. “It would be nice to have company,” she added shyly.

Jon didn’t say anything for a moment, just stood there and considered it, with his face all solemn like Father’s was when he was concerned. Finally, a slow smile spread across it. “Yes, I’ll stay. Perhaps being in the company of the bravest Stark will give me some courage.”

“Don’t tease me, Jon!” But Sansa knew he wasn’t being mean, and she watched happily as Jon lit the torches closest to them from the flame of his candle. The flickering flames made the crypts seem much less threatening.

“That’s much smarter than me,” she said as she sat back down in front of Aunt Lyanna’s statue. “I didn’t think to light a torch until it was too late.”

After putting out his candle, Jon settled next to her, lifting his cloak and draping it around Sansa, so they could sit shoulder to shoulder. “Well, I may be smarter, but I swear you’re braver.” He looked around at the statues surrounding them, and Sansa thought he might have shivered a bit, big boy though he was.

“I can tell you a story,” she offered, reaching for his hand. “It’s about Aunt Lyanna. It helped me to feel brave.”

“Aunt Lyanna?” Jon glanced up at figure above them. “A real story?”

“No, one I made up,” Sansa admitted. “But it has adventure and a rescue and a happy ending, I promise.”

Jon laughed softly. “You do like your happy endings. Tell me the story, Sansa. We’ll see how brave it can make me.”

Sansa didn’t mind his teasing. Of her older brothers, Robb had always been her hero before, the one who would play knight and rescue her from dragons and villains. But tonight Jon had braved the crypts, come to rescue her in her time of need. He was a true hero, and before she fell asleep on his shoulder, Sansa made sure her tale featured a knight named Ser Jon, just like her brave and gentle brother.


End file.
